


Civilian Sensibilities

by oly_chic



Series: Prowl Week 2020 [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Doorwings, Earthquakes, Sad Ending, Sort Of, prowl week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: Bumblebee's new root mode came with doorwings and has him baffled how to handle the new source of input. Prowl’s insight might help but he's forgotten life beyond wartime dulled sensation. Stranded away from the war, is it time to try living like a Praxian again?
Series: Prowl Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709596
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Prowl Week





	Civilian Sensibilities

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Sensory”
> 
> This takes place during the timeframe Megatron was thought dead and the Autobots were marooned on Earth in a cave. Drift was a background character in the comics at that point, or so my random assortment of Mike Costa comics show. Since I know JRo’s Drift better than Costa’s Drift, he’s based on JRo’s.
> 
> We’re going to pretend that Prowl of Petrex ended up in Praxus for some time and thought of it as home. I got to final edits before remembering IDW Prowl’s origin reference. Which is really dumb because I got it right for a different prompt.
> 
> I don’t own Transformers.

“Gah, how does anyone function with these things?”

Prowl walked into the main cave section to find it mostly deserted, with only Bumblebee and a few others. Bumblebee was closest to where Prowl entered and he was grumbling while turning back and forth. “What’s wrong?” Prowl asked.

“These things on my back! I figured a new transformation sequence with doorwings would just make me look like a minibot version of a Praxian knockoff, but purely in the looks department. Instead there’s feedback from these things and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Prowl tilted his helm. “What kind of feedback?” He didn’t understand how Bumblebee was getting new data without a Praxian-designed sensory net installed.

“It’s like air currents are touching me beyond my back,” Bumblebee explained. “I never even felt air currents on something like my leg unless first trying to feel them. And there’s this feedback loop that always happens soon after I transform into root mode. Almost as if they are bouncing signals off each other, but I’m not broadcasting any signals from them, so what gives?”

“It sounds like air currents are forming pockets in your doorwings,” Prowl thought out loud. “The easiest way to fix that is through doorwing movement.”

Bumblebee made a face. “How do I do that? And isn’t doorwing movement a language? What if I accidentally say something offensive?"

He gave Bumblebee a wryly grin and ignored the images of home. “No one uses doorwing language anymore, so it won’t be a problem.”

“Oh.”

“Focus on them and try moving.”

There was silence for a moment as Bumblebee concentrated, but then looked exasperated. “I can’t figure it out.”

“Let me help. If I move your doorwings you’ll understand it a bit better.” Prowl stood behind Bumblebee after receiving a thanks, and he carefully moved each doorwing individually. There was a sudden impulse to move them to say “hello, Prowl,” but Prowl had discipline.

“Okay,” Bumblebee slowly stopped him. “I think I get it now.”

The tactician stepped away and watched Bumblebee gradually flick his doorwings through wordless motions. Unexpected disappointment filled Prowl, who really wanted to see a personalized greeting towards him and to respond back. It was foolish really since he hadn’t moved his doorwings in vorns, except to transform.

Bumblebee noticeably relaxed his tense posture. “That feedback loop is gone. What about the feeling of air currents beyond my body?”

“You’ll have to start thinking of those as _extensions_ of your body,” Prowl pointed out. “However, Ratchet can see to turning down the sensors until air currents aren’t a problem.”

The minibot nodded. “Got it. Thanks, Prowl.” He left and Prowl assumed it was to find Ratchet.

Instead of immediately moving on to find something else to do, Prowl stood there and tried to feel air currents with his doorwings. He couldn’t, and he remembered the orn he thought it was time to act like a warrior and structure his doorwings into what he thought of as “war mode." It was the aftermath of his first battle and he learned the hard way he needed to tune them out. Their silence meant he didn’t need to move his doorwings to avoid feedback, and he only had to have spacial awareness of them to avoid the pain of hard contact. That was opposite of what it once meant to be Praxian.

That was enough reminiscing, he scolded himself. He pressed forward, continuing his search. When the main area didn’t lead to anything useful he searched the smaller and personal room like holes. He rounded the corner of one and immediately was faced with Drift in the center. The swordsmech was mediating.

Prowl backed off, fully intending to not interrupt when he stepped on a rock and its loud crunch bounced off the walls. Drift’s optics onlined and looked to Prowl. The black-and-white Autobot was surprised to see a lack of confusion in Drift.

“Yes?” Drift asked.

“My apologizes, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry about it. You look like you have other things you’re worried about.” Drift peered at him.

“I do not,” Prowl argued.

“Your aura shows troubled emotions.”

Prowl couldn’t argue against that because pointing out he didn’t believe in auras wouldn’t solve anything. Not with Drift anyway.

“Perhaps you should try meditating.” Drift offered a spot near him.

His first instinct was to decline, but his second thought was how he hadn’t meditated since Praxus. Perhaps a small indulgence would be nice. “Thank you.”

He took a meditative position of crossing his legs in the spot offered and began the Praxian ritual of relaxing into meditation. After two breems it hadn’t come and he concluded it was his Praxian heritage at fault. His thoughts kept wondering back to his interaction with Bumblebee and doorwings. It made him miss his Praxian heritage and wonder if anything of it would every come back.

There wasn’t much options left with so few Praxians remaining, but maybe there was something he could do for himself. An idea sparked after a few times of his mind going back to Bumblebee, and that was to recalibrate his doorwings to like they were before his first battle. “Praxus mode,” he called it for the moment for differentiating. Just for a moment so he could remember.

With a deep vent he focused on his doorwings and slowly let go of what he held back. Not everything could be flipped back to Praxus mode, as it would require medical intervention, but something things he could do.

Soft movements of air currents came back, photosensitivity increased, and then electromagnetic fields slowly filled the space between Drift and him. Maybe this is what Drift meant by auras he wondered. These field readings once could be interpreted as emotions, but it had been so long that he’d completely forgotten them by the time the late Autobot comer spoke to him of auras.

Despite his struggles he tried and he was rewarded when old abilities crept up. Drift was uneasy with distraction, and Prowl wondered why. Perhaps he should –

His senses all suddenly shook, as did his body. In fact the entire room shook. Earthquake!

Prowl opened his optics and took in his surroundings, assessing it was a fairly big earthquake. Rocks and small boulders were falling loose from the walls.

“What’s going on?” Drift asked, his field’s anxiety shooting up.

“Have you never experienced this? It’s called an earthquake and we’re supposed to find shelter, but without secured structure, I’m at a loss.” The walls and “doorways” seemed most dangerous.

Air currents told him to look up and he saw a very large chuck of ceiling coming loose. He looked down to find its path and realized it was going to land straight on Drift. “Drift – ” he started to warn him but then the chuck of wall dropped much further and was less than a klik away of freeing itself entirely.

There was no time for words, so Prowl threw himself at Drift and grabbed him in a tight rolling hold. They rolled to the side, but not before the chuck fell straight onto the doorwing that didn’t clear the path in time. Prowl cried out and the world went bright and then suddenly black while he was still moving.

The world returned to him murky at first, but then his doorwings made better sense of his surroundings before his other senses could be deciphered. Besides the throbbing pain in one, there was a lot of air current moving going on, shadows were passing them by, and Drift’s field was engulfing him.

His optics opened and the side of Drift’s face filled most of his vision. Prowl realized he was being carried in Drift’s arms.

Drift slowed down and looked to Prowl. “You’re awake? Are you okay? I didn’t see damage to your frame but I didn’t know why you blacked out so I’m taking you to Medibay.”

Prowl looked around and saw the winding route that identified it as the path to their makeshift and under-stocked Medibay. The ground was littered with rocks of all sizes.

“There’s no need; my internal repairs can handle it. Please put me down.” Internal repairs and recalibrating his doorwings back down to “war mode” so that never happened again.

As soon as he was standing on his own two peds he realized his error. The throbbing pain in his doorwing became acute when he moved through the motions. His steps staggered and Drift caught his elbow to hold him upright.

“Are you sure you don’t need Medibay?”

Concern was Drift’s primary emotion, so Prowl focused on subduing it. “It’s a minor inconvenience I can fix when I get back to my recharging area.”

“Okay… let me walk you there, just in case of another blackout.”

“No, thank you,” he began but the concern in Drift’s field intensified and was joined by anxiety. “But then again, I suppose caution is never too bad after something like an earthquake.”

Drift nodded. “Lead the way.”

The walk was silent and awkward as well as a little slow. Every step on uneven ground sent a low vibration through his frame that was magnified in his injured doorwing. At least he didn’t black out again by the time they reached his recharging spot, and he was relieved. There was no one around to bother him, either.

“So listen, thanks for the save,” Drift said, his voice calm and his field better.

“You’re welcome. At least your first earthquake experience wasn't too terrible.”

With a grunt and a nod Drift left. There was a strange small field pulse of disappointment in Drift’s field, whatever that meant.

Prowl sat down on his mat/berth and took the meditation position again. He fully intended to tune everything back down until nothing like that happened again, but he paused as the soft air currents of peaceful solidarity pulled him back to his surroundings. His doorwings picked up on the very little amount of light filtering through the cave, and he wondered if it’d always been there or if it was due to the shift in rocks. Without anyone else there he could also read the field of the Earth, and there was almost a sense of emotion from it.

The way his senses now spoke to him were wonderful. Terribly wonderful, and more peaceful than he’d had in a long time. Megatron was dead, and he was marooned away from the war, so this was probably as close to peace as he would ever get.

It was a peace he had stopped considering possible because he stayed in war mode for what felt like a lifetime. All of this was started by his wondering if Praxus would ever return in some small form, even if it was just to himself. Without the constant threat of war, and ignoring infrequent and random events like earthquakes, would he be able to at least try bringing back a piece of Praxus to life? To live a little bit more like a Praxian?

No, he ultimately concluded. War was always a constant threat to him. It hung over his helm, it vented onto his neck, and it was a cold cloud surrounding him. It had been doing that for thousands of vorns. Maybe one orn when he finally felt safe from its grips he could slowly dial it back up, but until then he simply didn’t feel safe to be Praxian again.


End file.
